Glad, Sad, Or Mad- Out Of The Mouths Of Babes

Towards 11 am today my kid starts looking at me. I’m just sitting here, watching Grey’s Anatomy and she asks, “Are you glad, Mommy?” I said no. “Are you sad, Mommy?” I said no. “Are you mad, Mommy?” I said nope.

At which point she declared, “WELL, THOSE ARE YOUR ONLY OPTIONS, YOU HAVE TO BE SOMETHING.”

Oh, how I wish those three simple emotions were the only ones in my emotional repertoire. With bipolar, you often feel so many emotions swirling like funnel clouds, you miss the simplicity of simply feeling pissed off or sad. I tried to explain to her, “I’m not mad or sad or glad, I’m just here. Nothing’s wrong, I’m fine.”

She proceeded to insist I had to choose one of the three options. Trying to talk her out of anything is as futile as banging your head against a brick wall. But she’s turning six in August so it’s not as if she’s had a lifetime to be introduced to the emotional spectrum. Glad, sad, and mad are about her entire repertoire. Hell, it’s not easy to explain to adults. If you don’t have a mental disorder, then you don’t really get what it means when someone says, “I’m here.” It’s neither good or bad. It’s just…statement of fact. Most adults think it’s some pessimistic or grumpy response. It’s not. There are some days when you’re just apathetic or feeling level and you’re here. Period.

It’s nine p.m. I haven’t cryptified yet. Probably won’t for awhile. The spawn took a nap (which she hasn’t done since she was three) so she will be wound for sound for hours to come. Fortunately, I’m feeling this tiny hypomanic buzz rather than my normal crash into the abyss. The buzz won’t stick around but I’m gonna go with it. Maybe I will actually get the courage to read what I wrote last night. It will either be face palm and shame, or a bunch of “This isn’t bad, but I’m gonna rewrite this and that and tweak this and that…” Maybe.

I did dishes today. Cooked myself a decent meal. Which I’d wanted to do all week and started to do Thursday night…Only to realize all the meat I’d thawed out had spoiled because it got pushed to the back and I forgot about it. Fuck. I was mega pissed at myself, I don’t have money for that shit.

I had all those baskets of clean but unfolded laundry that were taunting me for weeks. I decided to take a different approach. I rewashed it all. BUT I did it one load at a time, and as soon as a load came out of the dryer, I folded it and put it away. I work better in little increments. Don’t get as overwhelmed. I will do another load or two tomorrow, depending on if I am feeling it. I’m cautiously optimistic here, but I am also coming off Trileptal, three weeks into the Cymbalta, which was increased twice, and now my Xanax has gone up so it would be a big mistake to think I’m solid. It’s gonna be awhile.

But last week I was pondering the proper way to cut my wrists and this week I am not, so I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say…Trileptal fucked me up.

GRRR. I wish the idgets who created Kidz Bop would choke on pointy Doritos. Pop music is bad enough. Kids singing crappy music and forcing parents to listen to their own kid sing along for hours is just cruel and unusual. Fuck waterboarding. Do this to the terrorists, they’ll tell all to escape this shit.

Spook asked earlier why I sometimes tear up when watching tv shows. “It strikes a chord.” That’s all I could say, as if she has a clue what that means. It’s weird, because my mom used to bawl all the time over TV when we were kids and my sis and I would make fun of her relentlessly for being so silly and mushy. But then my mom sobbed, I just slightly tear up during particularly poignant scenes. It’s wondermous to be able to feel something again.

All this positivity is making me throw up a little. If I thought it would stick, it’d probably be less sickening. I just know this road too damned well to take it too seriously. Meds don’t stabilize in a few days, especially when taking away one or adding one or changing dosages. This is just part of the cycle. Still…I don’t mind it.

Thing is…I can feel myself slipping. I always get that jolt of “up” for a couple of hours after taking my evening dose of Cymbalta. Oh, well. Go with it. I mean, the kid has been yapping at me all day and she’s asked at least a thousand questions. That’s gonna exhaust anyone, right? Especially when it’s the same questions and no answer you give is ever good enough. Kids really should come with mute buttons.

Actually, all humans should come with one. Including myself, so I could just hit it and avoid the foot in mouth disease I get during my moods.

Kidz Bop is just a synonym for “audio ipecac”. Wikipedia needs to put that on their page.